


This is Your Fault

by Avris



Category: Original Work
Genre: A+ Parenting, Angst, Anorexia, BoyxBoy, Child Abuse, Depression, Gay, Guilt, Hockey, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Original Character Death(s), Original Character(s), Self Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, Yaoi, ice hockey, self blame, self hatred
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-17
Updated: 2016-11-17
Packaged: 2018-08-31 11:30:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8576797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Avris/pseuds/Avris
Summary: It's not enough just to practice, not for Jessie. 'Practice makes perfect' is a myth for people like him, he has to work above and beyond just to be 'good enough'.And 'good enough' is never enough, not for dad, not for coach, not for hockey, not for anyone!Jessie knows this because each and every person in his life has made sure he knew he was never enough.





	1. Introduction

* * *

If you’ve ever loved someone you know the feeling of pain; whether that means you have been rejected, cheated on, insecure or left behind. You’ve felt the little, tiny sting in your heart when your lover left you, even if only for a few short hours. You felt the sadness of their absence. You’ve felt what I feel everyday of my life. 

It wasn’t even noticeable at first, like a paper cut. It was dull and just a pinch. I could bare that pain, it was tolerable, I was doing okay. I was perfectly fine; unless you keep adding onto that pain. Imagine if you got a small scratch, but it itched so you kept scratching at it. Soon that scratch begins to get bigger, until it’s actually a cut now, it’s bleeding but you can’t stop scratching. Except now you’re not the only one scratching it, now there’s something with claws and it’s digging into the cut. You’ve created a gash, the blood is pouring out and all you can do is embrace the pain. There is no cure for this kind of bleeding out, you can’t just get stitches and be okay, you can’t numb yourself to the pain.

In the winter of my Junior year I was given an early scholarship for my hockey “skills.” I call it beginner’s luck, though, and my mentor does too. His name is Landon Denzel Knight and he hates my guts; too bad I love his.

He got injured in the game last year and due to the long term recovery he is being forced to go through he had been knocked down from top goaltender to training the new kids, or in his case a kid who got lucky. The man who scouted me saw me score a few lucky shots and escape a hit that could’ve forever injured my brain and spine. So maybe my luck was more of a miracle, not that it matters. I still can hardly play hockey as it is, Coach Knight has seen all of my game clips and he’s less than impressed. 

I was never proud of my game play as it was, even if I was the main scorer of my team- it was all luck- but seeing the look on his face after watching my tapes shattered all hope I had for ever winning the Calder Memorial award, or any other award for that matter. His first words were a muttered, “we’ve got a lot of work to do.” I got it tattooed to my brain, it’s stuck there. It’s permanent. Those words were the first paper cut to my heart. When his stone cold gaze met my ashamed eyes as he looked at me in disappointment. I felt myself locking down my emotions immediately; I couldn’t handle him knowing how much that gaze obliterated my hopes because he’d sooner kick me off the team than sympathize with me over my emotional feelings. 

Something about the cruel way he pushed me around during our private practice lessons clued me in on his hatred for me and when you’re in love like I am a gaze like that does nothing but bring pain and sorrow. You just want to fall to your knees and break down. I fell to my knees in a different way, though. He was angry and tough on the ice, I stood no chance against the powerful force that was Coach Knight. I had been too nice, too soft for him. I wasn’t tough enough. He wanted me to dominate the field and not be such a pushover. Apparently I just did whatever people said, and Coach thought I couldn’t stand up for myself. I’d be a useless asset to the team if I was as worthless as I had proven to be this far.

* * *

 


	2. Accepted Isn't the Same as Acception

* * *

 

_ - _

_ “Congratulations Jessie Nicholas Hayden for being accepted into San Jose State University,” the scout, who had been watching during our November tournament, told me.  _

 

_ “This is a great opportunity for you to gain hands on experience and learn from professional hockey players,” the ‘you’d be stupid not to accept this offer’ went unspoken but the look he and my coach shared told me quite clearly what they thought of me even hesitating to accept. _

 

_ “Think about it Jessie! You can’t seriously be considering rejecting this offer! You have the most amazing skills on our team,” my best friend had spent hours trying to ‘talk some sense into me’ like my coach had asked of him. _

 

_ “It’s up to you Jessie. I trust your judgement, son, but if you want my opinion this is a once in a lifetime opportunity. They offered you dual credit courses so you’ll be graduating high school and completing college courses at the same time.  I think you should do it,” my mother had tried to reason. _

 

_ My father had nothing to say on the matter, the fact that I had hesitated at all had him disappointed.  _

_ - _

When I’m on the ice I can breathe easy. There’s no more stress or panic in my mind and I see the world clearer. Brighter, even, except that may be all the white walls around me coming through. The pain I feel is sucked away by the numbing ice and there’s nothing but me and the feeling of floating. 

At least, that was how it was back home. Way before I was constantly slammed into walls, tripped over my own two feet, and worked until I could hardly get to my dorm without collapsing. Coach Knight was getting fed up because after 3 weeks of training I still wasn’t able to get through him and score into the net. He always let me start with the puck and the challenge was, as he worded it, “simply to get past me and score, it will be  a piece of cake.” Now he starts the lessons with, “just get past me or go home, you’re not cut out for this.” His words spoke loudly in my mind as  _ ‘you were a mistake, you shouldn’t be here.’  _ He was right, I shouldn’t, but it was unlikely that my return home would be welcomed. Especially to someone like my father and I couldn’t risk myself to what would happen if I was kicked off the team. At least if I quit I could make an excuse of it not being my fault but my father, no matter the reason, would kill me if I lost this chance.

_ - _

_ “You’re making a good decision, boy!” my coach shook my hand. He sounded more excited for me leaving than for me ‘making use of such a unique opportunity.’ _

 

_ “Did you pack everything? Your phone’s all the way charged right baby? Call me when you land! Did you pack enough snacks for your carry on luggage? I could quickly buy some at the gift shop or something, I’m sure there’s food somewhere around here. Oh baby, I’m gonna miss you so much. Take care of yourself you hear?” mother had coddled me. _

 

_ “Welcome to California, I’m Landon Knight. I’ll be your mentor until hockey season starts up in October,” he had smiled at me with perfectly straight teeth. He had captured my heart at ‘welcome’ and I had already known I was royally screwed. This could never end well. _

_ - _

The one good thing about being here is that I was alone. No one bothered me, and I didn’t bother anyone else. Since I had come during the summer most students weren’t concerned with making friends and was given my own dorm room. No one could pester me about my eating habits, or the way I dealt with all of my stress. No one was there to even have to worry about the constant nights of sobbing I spent rather than sleeping, and I took a lot of advantage of that. Being alone was the only reason I stayed, even against Coach Knights wishes. No matter what hell I was facing against Coach Knight I knew the hell waiting back home was much worse. Even if I lose this opportunity I couldn’t go back home. 

_ - _

_ “Dad I got a scholarship for hockey,” I tried to sound excited for his sake. _

 

_ “Mm,” he muttered, unsatisfied, “you’ll be kicked off soon enough. They’ll realize their mistake.” _

_ - _

“Jessie Hayden, see me after class,” my English professor said as she handed out our most recent placement test. This was my warning talk, I already knew I had done poorly on this test. Of course I had, it’s me. The amount of red marks I saw on just my essay was evidence enough that I was on thin ice, this teacher could only accommodate with my stupidity so much before she’d realize I was a lost cause. I’d lose my scholarship just as quick as I had gotten it.

“Please pull out your copy of “Freedom” so we can discuss the way Jonathan Franzen emphasizes his writing style by analyzing his choice in wording throughout the first few chapters. Don’t forget that by next week you need to have completed  the book and we’ll be discussing the meaning Franzen had originally been trying to express,” Ms. Lorna told us as vaguely as she could, it was her way of trying to find the people who hadn’t even begun reading the book in a subtle manner. She pointedly looked at me but I was already done with the book, reading was one of the few things- besides hockey- that could completely numb my mind and let me clearly see the world around me. I needed the escape of my collapsing world and numbing my mind helped. I needed to be able to breathe again, and I really needed to keep the scholarship or I’d be watching my life completely crumble in front of me. 

“You’ll need to pair up with someone in this class to compare your notes and edit your final essays, they’re worth 55% of your grade for the end of this grading period,” she told us. That's the problem with school; group work. I can't stand working with other people, no matter the cause. 

“I didn't assign pairs this time so find your partners and you need to have a second draft by next class,” she goes on to explain our homework. People were giving their friends a side look while others just waited for someone to come to them, we had an odd number of students so I knew I'd end up alone. I should be grateful because people working with me never meant anything good, but sometimes it hurts being the last choice, or in my case not even an option. Everyone around me was moving their bags to their partners tables and planning times they could meet in their busy schedules. Guy's flirted with the girls and tried to meet with them at their dorm, some of the girls working together were actively naming cafes they knew were good for studying while the guys working together just planned a pizza night, or finding a quiet library on campus. 

I was so intently watching others that I didn’t hear anyone come beside me until, “so do you want to meet at mine or yours?” A girl with bubble gum in her mouth sat in the chair next to me, she had already made herself comfortable with her feet up on the desk. 

“I'm probably not the best person to work with,” I warned her, she deserved to be warned that I am, and always have been, a mistake. She shrugged, “do you do your work or do you slack?” 

I looked at her for a second, “I do my work but not well,” was the answer I settled with. It was safe enough not to give away anything about my stupidity, besides if she was a potential friend then I wanted to not ruin this.

“Well, I’ll be editing yours so it's fine. I've seen you revise the teachers handouts before so I'm not worried about mine,” she stretched her arms, she's definitely a relaxed person. I envy her, I can't just relax anywhere.

“I'm Jessie and you're making a mistake but I'll try to be bearable,” I sighed, she gave me a side glance and I knew she was trying to figure me out. 

“Call me Lexi or Alex but never Alexis if you want your head connected to your body,” she drawled at me lazily. If she wasn't so serious I would have laughed but I just nodded in her direction. 

“Is Axis okay?” I asked, “I've got a thing for having my own nicknames for people.”

“No, yeah, that's fine,” she smiled.

We spent the rest of class planning when to meet and getting to know each other, but you can't learn much when class is gonna be over in 5 minutes. The teacher dismissed the class but gave me a hard look, reminding me to stay after.

“As you've seen from your last test grade you're no longer passing my class and until you get that grade above a 60 you can't go to hockey practice. I've already informed your mentor and your coach and you've been told to keep training outside of classes and run a minimum of 4 miles a day,” she instructed.

“Yes ma'am,” I whispered. 

It was happening already, my world was crumbling. Coach must be so disappointed, I was such a mistake. Only a mistake. 

“How can I get that grade up?” I asked Ms. Lorna.

“It can't be up until I grade your second draft next week,” she told me, “so make sure you do your homework.”

I nodded numbly, days like this I needed my dad, or hockey. I needed bone crushing hockey to stop my world from shutting down. I knew I deserved it right now, my dad would too. Coach even knows but I can't play for a week. I just needed a release. 

_ - _

_ “Promise me you won't do this again, Jessie, please,” his tears soaked my shirt as I numbly stared at the wall behind him. _

 

_ “Jessie I need you, I love you, please don't hurt yourself like this anymore,” he begged.  _

 

_ If only I knew he was being a hypocrite. I should've known, he was my boyfriend. How did I miss something so important, like his depression? I knew the feeling of pain, and sadness. I should've seen the pain. It’s all my fault. _

_ - _

“Promises are made to be broken,” I whispered as my vision was blurred with tears. My bathroom suddenly felt too big, I was so small and pathetic. Thick liquid was pulsing out of my thighs, it wasn't enough. It didn't hurt enough. I needed to be beaten. I deserved to be punished for being such a mistake, for being so stupid. I deserved all the pain in the world.

My whole body felt wet, tears and blood mixing as I cradled my knees to my chest and broke down. I was worthless, this was a mistake. I shouldn't have come. 

“I'm sorry,” slipped past my mouth and suddenly it was being chanted, I couldn't say it enough and my mind was nothing but angry at myself.

I was completely alone in this, I didn't deserve to be with anyone. 

Deep gashes were rinsed off and bandaged while my mind was completely on autopilot. I could feel my body shutting down, it was as disappointed in me as everyone else. I was walking towards my bedroom when my knees finally gave out, the pain in my thighs too much to walk on yet. Resting my head against the wall I caved into my exhausted body and willed it to rest. Tomorrow morning I had 4 miles to run, I needed to sleep for now.

_ - _

_ “You broke your promise Jessie, I trusted you. This is why I left,” his voice echoed in my dreams. I couldn't even say anything, the sadness that washed over me had me sobbing.  _

_ “I'm sorry,” I tried to scream but nothing was coming out, “I'm sorry!”  _

_ “As if he'll forgive you, son,” my father's voice scoffed, “crying so pathetically, how did I raise such a fucking fairy?!” _

_ “I'm so sorry,” I brokenly whispered. _

_ - _

* * *

 

 


	3. Chapter Two

I was pushing my body too hard and I knew it but I needed some sort of pain, something to stop the numbing as I ran my 5th mile, starting my 6th. 

He won't leave my mind, ever since meeting Landon he's been haunting my dreams. His voice is always in the back of my mind, he's always around. Dad is going to call today, he always does when it's been too long since I've gotten a beating. I needed him to punish me because it's my fault, it's always been my fault and he knows it. Dad knows I was the reason Jackson committed suicide, I turned him gay. I was the disease, it was my fault. Jackson should never have met me. 

My lungs were burning and my legs were aching but I pushed even harder. I deserved this. 

A whistle went off, loud and close to me. I tripped over my exhausted feet and turned to see Coach Knight with an annoyed look he was directing at me.

“I said keep exercising like normal, not exhaust your body,” he practically growled. I started to stand, feeling my scraped knees bleed but determined to finish this mile.

“I needed to run it off,” I told him. He's an athlete, he should understand what I mean.

“Go home, come back tomorrow. I'll help you train outside since you can't do it on your own,” he said, completely ignoring my statement.

“I’m going to finish this mile and continue exercising the way I need to tomorrow,” I told him. I didn't want to add to his hatred but he didn't know how bad I was, I deserved this aching soreness. I started to run again, forcing myself to finish the last 2 laps of this mile. Coach Knight stayed on the sidelines, waiting for me to be done. He looked annoyed, like he was dealing with a brat. 

“You're training with me tomorrow,” he said.

“We'll see,” I told him, “I don't want to train with you, I like my way.”

“Too bad, your way makes you more useless than usual,” he muttered, looking at my limp. It wasn't from soreness but I wasn't gonna tell him that, he couldn't know I was an even bigger disappointment than he thought. 

“See you Coach,” I turned away from him to head to my dorm.

“Can you take care of your knees right?” He asked. It was the most civil thing he's ever said to me.

“Yeah, I've had my share of injuries,” I assured him. That was my first hint, and it was never supposed to come out.

_ - _

_ “If you say anything about this to anyone you’ll be in for a world of hurt,” he had sneered. _

 

_ “Your mom would be so ashamed that you let this happen, I’ll keep it a secret if you do,” he softly told me. _

 

_ Gasping through the tears I managed to read the few simple written words, ‘This is your fault.’ _

_ - _

Coach didn’t leave me alone the next two days of self training, I can’t say it was from concern but it wasn’t his most annoyed gesture he’s ever given me. Every morning I showed up limping he scowled. He still has no idea the true cause of that limp, though. The second day had him asking if I had pulled a muscle but I just shook my head and said I was fine, because I am. Truly it was my fault that I was so weak I couldn’t even handle a few injuries- even after my amount of practice with them. 

“How many miles do you think you can run in 30 minutes?” Coach Knight asked me.

“Four?” I guessed, my running was something I had been doing for years but I’d never timed how many could be done within an amount of time. It was always ‘run-until-you-drop.’ I could run 6 miles straight, after years of practice. You can imagine my dad’s happiness at having a kid who had to exercise so much just to be good.

“How much did you exercise back where you lived?” He looked over to me curiously.

“Everyday, 2 hours if not more,” I shrugged, “I swear I’m not that lazy- I’ll up the time!” I suddenly felt scared, he could easily call me out for not trying hard enough, for not being good enough, I could easily be kicked off the team by this man.

“That’s more than what I do, what do you mean?” He glanced over at me, definitely getting that calculating look. He was trying to figure me out and that was something I never could allow to happen, he couldn’t see all of my countless flaws. 

“Sorry, I wasn’t sure if that was enough,” I hesitantly told him. 

He wasn’t going to reassure me, that was for sure, but he did give me a nod of acceptance for a moment. 

“You must have had a hard-ass coach,” he laughed.

“Yeah… you can say that,” I forced a smile, my dad was a tough coach. 

“I’ll time you, your challenge today is to get past 4 miles in 30 minutes. You don’t need to do 5 miles but get at least a lap past 4,” he told me.

Dad gave me similar challenges all the time. I knew what would happen if I didn’t complete the task so I ran my best pace and tried so hard to reach 4 miles, each turn was smooth as I sped up on the straight-aways. Coach called out the time I had left each time and it was fine at first until he said, “5 minutes.” And I knew I still had another mile to run, at least. 

I sped up my pace and all but sprinted the last 3 laps when he began counting down from 30. I pushed the rest of my weight into running forward to finish the last lap and made it with 8 seconds to spare.

“Good job,” Coach said, there was no smile or a sign of approval.

“Sorry,” I told him, gasping for air.

“For what?” He analyzed my expression, not getting much because I was just focusing on breathing.

“I barely made it, I promise to work harder next time,” I said between breathes of air.

“You’ve gotta stop that, you did your best. Celebrate that you made it,” he told me as if I deserved it. 

“Sir, I don’t think celebration is something worthy of barely completing the challenge you gave me,” I told him.

“Exactly, It was a challenge. I hadn’t expected you to do it and you did, therefore yeah, you can celebrate,” he firmly told me. 

“Back home this wasn’t enough,” I accidentally let out. I cursed my brain to mouth filter for not working right then and there.

“Sounds like more than just a hard-ass coach,” he was looking at me expectantly as if expecting me to open up right then and there.

“I have a study session in 30 minutes, is it okay to leave now?” I asked him instead, not meeting his hardening gaze.

“Yeah, okay,” he turned away and began walking towards the dorms. 

If there was ever a chance of Coach and I ever being more than mentor and student then I just striked it out of the rink. I don’t want that, though, “My coach was a major hard-ass.”

Coach looked back at me as I looked up at the sky, “back home if I didn’t do it right… there’s a lot of things that would happen.” There was no way I could tell him about my dad, though.

“Not necessarily with coach but I had pretty strict… friends…” I carefully said, “It was sort of expected that I do better than what I could do. Barely finishing 4 miles wouldn’t have been something to celebrate back home.”

I wasn’t even looking at Coach at all now, showing this much emotion was going to definitely lead to being kicked off the teams soon. Nobody want’s an overemotional gay boy on their team. Definitely not Coach Landon, he didn’t deserve that especially after the last crappy year of his life.

“What would happen?” Coach asked, he was remaining calm and not smacking me for being a weak and sensitive guy so I took that as a safe time to look up.

“Nothing… longer practices, less breaks, stuff like that. Nothing I should be complaining about, sorry,” I shook my head, I’ve already said too much. 

“Alright. Okay, we’ll work here tomorrow. I won’t be going easy on you but that’s not how things work here. You have a study group to get to right? Go ahead, don’t need you falling behind,” he said calmly. It was refreshing not to be yelled at but at the same time he was being too nice. I didn’t deserve that amount of… empathy. 

“Thank you,” I nodded, walking by him with my head down. I knew my facial expression would say too much of what I was feeling that I didn’t want him to know about. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Jessie,” he called.

“Tomorrow,” I called back, waving over my shoulder and turning out of the park and out of Coach’s sight.

_ - _

_ “I got a call from your coach, do you know what he told me?” my father’s voice growled. I stayed as quiet as I possibly could. My body doing everything it could to convince my mind that I should run, but my mind knew that it would only lead to more agony. _

_ “Too tired to answer? Have you been sneaking out? You fainted, JUST HOW WEAK ARE YOU?” my father bellowed. _

_ “What did I do to get a son like you? I get it, I was a bad kid. I had a child too young but dammit to hell I should’ve had you aborted, why the fuck are you so weak?” he was coming closer to me, “You’re not allowed to go to bed until you’ve done double your normal practice time for the next month and if I hear about you fainting again I’ll give you a reason to faint, faggot,” he yelled, raising his fisted arm behind his head. _

_ That week I stayed home for ‘being-sick-with-the-flu.’ The ‘get-well-soon’ cards were placed in my room as if I really was sick. My mom took care of me as if I really did have the flu, she completely ignored the bruises and I let her. I deserved it anyway. _

_ - _


End file.
